Dichotomy, Unity, Dichotomy
by AstroGirl
Summary: StarkZhaan. Is it just me, or does that line of Stark's in DMD sound an awful lot like a marriage proposal? Vague spoilers for Die Me Dichotomy. Rated M for nonexplicit sex.


Dichotomy, Unity, Dichotomy

by AstroGirl

He entered and stood silently for a moment, watching her softly stroking Pilot's face, concern and compassion so clearly evident on her own. He wanted to commit this sight to memory, to put it in the place where he put all his most treasured images, deep in the secret place where even the Aurora chair could not reach. For this might be his last sight of her. She might reject him, might send him away, and he could hardly blame her, knowing what darkness lay inside him. But at least he would have this image of her, so very much herself. So beautiful. So gentle. So strong.

He needed that gentleness, needed that strength. Needed her wisdom, her control, the calm, sane touch of her mind. Without her, he would surely be lost: there was enough of his mind still whole to know how damaged the rest was, and to know how incapable he was of healing himself.

Which was why, despite the fear that coiled in his gut and threatened to break his meager self-control, he had to ask. He had to know. Now, not later. He had been through far too much to be able to cling to comforting illusions.

He stepped forward. "Everyone else is preparing to move on," he said. Yes, he told himself, that's good. Good, Stark. Work up to it. A normal conversation. Like a sane person.

"I know. Tragedy often heralds flight." Such sadness in her voice, as if _she _needed gentleness and comforting, too. He wondered if he could do that for her, if he were worthy even to try. He wanted to be worthy. Wanted to protect her from the sorrow and the pain, as she had protected him. 

But it was up to her, of course. It always had been.

"What are you going to do, Zhaan?"

"My concern now is for Moya and Pilot." Of course. They needed her; she would not abandon them. He loved her for that, too, wanted to share that burden with her, too. But would she have enough concern left over for him? Even Zhaan's heart could not be infinite.

There was no way to know, but to ask. Nervousness fluttered in his stomach, familiar chaos threatened to overwhelm his mind. He fought it down, forcing himself to be calm. He needed to get this right. Needed to be worthy.

"If you are in agreement, Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan, it would be an honor and a pleasure to share the future with you."

There. It was said. Formal. Heartfelt. Just as he had practiced it. He waited, attempting to prepare himself equally for joy or disappointment.

He could not tell, at first, whether her smile was pleasure or pity, and the not knowing was almost more than he could stand. Another moment, and he might have left the room, might have dropped to his knees and wept, might have done almost anything.

Then she left the sleeping Pilot and came to him, and embraced him, and he wondered how he had ever doubted.

Blue fingers caressed his face, flesh and metal alike. Blue eyes regarded him with serious, loving intensity. "Dear Stark. Are you certain your path lies with me?"

Was he certain? Was he _certain_? Was he certain of the existence of the stars, of the dead, of himself? Having no words to answer such an incomprehensible question, he merely nodded. 

She smiled, mouth and face and eyes united in delight, and he found himself unable to breathe, swallowing desperately in attempt to clear the lump that would not leave his throat.

"Come," she said, and led him away.

**  


Silently, she lit the candles and removed her clothes. He followed suit, awkwardly, never as comfortable in his body as she was in hers, even if he had assembled it, atom by atom, from his own purified energy. They sat together on the floor, naked before each other, before the Goddess. Zhaan took his hands, and the last of his nervousness faded, replaced with a soaring joy. The chant she led him in was not one he knew, but he learned the words from her readily, his voice blending and merging with her own. Their meaning came to him in a form that had nothing to do with translator microbes, and everything to do with the growing link between them: "In the sight of the Goddess we join ourselves, mind and body and soul. In the name of the Goddess we dedicate ourselves, each to the other. In the hands of the Goddess we place ourselves, to face whatever fate she sets us, joined together. Joined together. Joined together." He offered it up for the prayer it was, heart bursting with gratitude for a Goddess who had sent her servant to share with the likes of him.

Hands trailed up his body, reached his face and began to unbuckle his mask slowly, gently, giving him plenty of time to prepare. Zhaan gasped, softly, as his light spilled over her. Her hands clasped him, pulling him to her, and, as smoothly and naturally as if they had never been separate beings, they were one.

He had always held back in Unity before, reluctant to pry too deeply into Zhaan's private depths, ashamed to let her too completely into his own. But there were no barriers now. He could sense it when she found the darkness that lay, deep and ugly, inside him, could feel her unshocked acceptance, her uncompromised love. She showed him her own dark and violent depths in return, begged his forgiveness for them, but he saw nothing to forgive, only her beautiful strength and the sudden knowledge that, if Zhaan could have such darkness and still be Zhaan, there surely was still hope left for him.

_I will teach you,_ she promised without words. _You need never suffer alone again._

Never alone again. Tears spilled from his corporeal eye. He had forgotten what it was like to cry from anything but pain.

They joined bodies, then, as seamlessly as they had joined minds, and the ceremony was complete.

He held her afterwards as she lay drowsing against him, glad that he had been able to bring her the respite of sleep after the physical and emotional exhaustion of the last few days. He felt the pleasant pull of sleep, himself, but resisted giving in to it just yet, preferring to remain conscious to savor feelings so long denied to him that he had nearly forgotten what they were like: Contentment. Security. Peace.

Tomorrow, he knew, there would be hardships that must again be faced, sorrows that must be borne. People he cared for who were hurt, or endangered, or dead. A fugitive existence, an uncertain future, his own difficult journey back to sanity. But none of that could break him, now. She had driven the voices from his mind, the confusion from his heart, and as long as she was here with him, he knew everything would be all right.

Yes, as long as he had Zhaan, it would all be all right.


End file.
